


Woman: Re-defined

by DPS



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/F, Female John, Female Sexuality, Female Sherlock, First Time, Flowers, Fluff, Lingerie, Smut, True Love, fem!lock, feminine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 08:12:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9595427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DPS/pseuds/DPS
Summary: Sherlock, who loves solving an interesting triple homicide on any day of the week, also enjoys the more feminine parts of life. John teaches her to accept them, and in doing so, the female detective and doctor explore their flourishing feelings for one another: and it all starts with flowers.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just a one-shot I thought up between writing my Beauty and the Beast fic Rose. The world needs more Fem!lock!  
> If you enjoy it, or have any critiques, let me know!  
> Cheers,  
> MC

Sherlock adjusted the lacy strap on the ridiculous garment, feeling equal parts foolish and seductive. At least, she hoped.

_Breathe, you’re doing this for John._

Sherlock inhaled and exhaled slowly, fixing her ruby lipstick in the mirror one last time and, with a deep sigh, reached back to unclip her hair, letting her auburn curls fall down around her shoulders and shivering at the freeing sensation, running her long fingers through the curls to tame them.

Sherlock never, _never_ took her hair down, almost cutting it all off on a few occasions but her vanity preventing her from losing the luscious tresses she adored.

Sherlock always kept her hair in a tight bun at the back of her head, and almost no one had ever seen her hair down. Even living with John that past two years, she had never seen Sherlock’s hair unfastened. In the confines of her own brilliant mind, Sherlock recognized that she scorned how feminine she looked with the soft curls framing her face, lessening the sharp edge of her cheekbones and the length of her oval face and neck.

Looking into the mirror now, with her hair down, make-up painted on lightly, and only lacy lingerie to cover her mostly naked body, she knew she looked feminine.

But John, who refused to be called Joan because fuck societal standards about gendered names, John, who went into the army and was promoted despite her small stature and “lesser” gender status, John, who shot a man dead without a blink of remorse but cried watching _Pride and Prejudice_ when she thought Sherlock was away, John made Sherlock want to be a woman.

Not just accept being a woman grudgingly, and wear trousers and shirts that covered her slight curves and small breasts in order to do so, no, John made her accept what she had always run from due to societal expectations of what it means to succeed in a man’s world.

Sherlock is a genius, true. And she adores a good triple-homicide solved before breakfast, no one would dispute that; but she also loves make-up, and pretty scarves, and most of all, flowers.

And flowers were the reason Sherlock was currently holed up in their bathroom at 221B, trying to calm her frazzled nerves.

* * *

 

John came home from the surgery one afternoon, massaging her aching shoulder with one hand and holding her briefcase and in the other, along with a bouquet of flowers.

Sherlock was lying on the couch, pretending to be in her mind palace, but was really attempting to deduce the meaning of the flowers John had brought home. Who were they for? Or, perhaps they were a gift from an admirer.

“Sherlock, do you want some tea? What am I saying, of course you do," John answered herself with a little chuckle, moving to the kettle and setting down the briefcase with the enigmatic flowers on top.

Sherlock got up in a huff and whirl of her dressing gown, stomping to the kitchen, ignoring John for a moment in favor of looking more closely at the flowers. Picking them up, Sherlock deduced they were deep purple roses, lilacs, and baby’s breath, all difficult to find during the winter months in London. So, someone special then, not just a passing fling.

Sherlock ignored the pang in her chest at the thought of John dating yet another vapid man, and turned to confront her, seeing the doctor holding out a cup of tea for Sherlock to take and wearing one of her beautiful smiles that lit up the flat.

_Focus, Sherlock._

“Another man, John? I wouldn’t have pegged you for a purple roses type, perhaps he doesn’t know you as well as he thinks,” Sherlock scoffed imperiously, snatching his teacup from John’s outstretched hand and taking a sip despite the scalding temperature that left her tongue aching, still holding the flowers in her left hand in a vice grip.

“Sherlock-“

“After all, these flowers are indicative of someone who is colder, someone who undeniably favors darkness over light, someone who is more serious than you with your ridiculous jumpers-“

“Sherlock, please-“

“Hush John, I’m thinking. Now, it wasn’t just any man who gave these to you, it was someone who obviously cares about you. Who would go to the trouble of finding lilacs in January otherwise? So, not just anyone, but someone special, someone who views you as serious, equates you with nighttime and perhaps danger, but also sweetness, going with the baby’s breathe. Flowers are so indicative of sentiment, they are simple to-“

“ **Sherlock** ” John shouted, catching Sherlock’s attention as she lifted her head to stare into John’s baby blue eyes that were glistening with- fondness?

And nervousness? Why in the world was John nervous?

John took a sip of tea, steeling herself and throwing back her shoulders into a military stance that set Sherlock on edge, “you’re right, they weren’t given to me. I bought them.”

Sherlock’s mind was thrown into disarray? John bought these flowers, for whom? A man? It seems statistically unlikely that a woman would give flowers to a man, although John wasn’t one for stereotypes-

“Sherlock, no more deducing. Stay with me, please,” John said quietly, with a serious expression adorning on her normally light-hearted face.

“Sherlock, the flowers are for you.”

Sherlock’s mind shut off, stopped spinning, and the world lurched to a stop.

_“Sherlock, the flowers are for you.”_

Trying to process the influx of information to her system and get her mind back online, she only heard the end of John’s rambling, “-and I know I’ve confused you in the past saying I’m not gay, but 221B is home.”

“I-that is-I-yes” Sherlock agreed unsteadily, “but you are giving me these” _perfect, amazing, wonderful_ “flowers why?”

John shook her head in fond exasperation, her dark golden hair falling around her neck in a way that made her look even more beautiful, “because, Sherlock, I’m home with you. You’re my home.” She finished, looking shyly up at Sherlock through her short eyelashes and stepping closer to the woman in question who was standing completely still.

“I love you Sherlock, and even if you don’t want to be with me, I promise it’s just the two of us. No more dating, no more secrets,” John quieted as she grew closer, taking Sherlock’s clammy hands into her own and giving them a squeeze, “just us.”

“J-John” Sherlock stuttered, “you know that romantic entanglement-”

“Would complete you as a human being," John interrupted, leaning forward and catching Sherlock’s plump lips in a soft kiss, just the barest brushing of lips against one another, but Sherlock could taste John’s tea and an underlying flavor that was just _John_ , and it took Sherlock’s breath away.

John leaned back, watching Sherlock with a sweet expression that caused Sherlock to internally melt. Still holding the beautiful, and now fitting, flowers, she brought them to her nose to sniff, wanting to catalogue to smell of the flower’s John bought for her.

John watched all this is a grin, picked her tea back up and walking into the sitting room, leaving Sherlock holding the beautiful flowers with a blush adorning her face.

* * *

John was right of course, she was always right. Since that night, she and Sherlock had been slowly advancing their romantic relationship with slow touches and soft, chaste kisses, as Sherlock was new to the process and John had never dated a woman before. 

"But, you're bisexual," Sherlock stated one night about a week after the flower incident when the two residents were reading by the fire.

"Bloody hell, yes alright? But I didn't want to admit that I sometimes stared at women a little too long to be platonic and fit into a narrow-minded military stereotype," John exclaimed, wishing the subject could be dropped but knowing, with Sherlock, life was never quite so simple.  

But Sherlock, sensing John's unease with the subject of dissecting her sexuality, just nodded her head and went over to the violin, beginning to play a slow song with undercurrents of longing. 

John relaxed back into her seat, and allowed Sherlock's music to wash over her, before announcing her intention to go to bed. Sherlock watched her go and, after a few minutes more of playing, cautiously went to climb the stairs up to John's room. 

Knocking on the door and hearing a grunted "come in," Sherlock slipped past the door and padded to John's bedsit, seeing her sleepy eyes blink in the darkness and feeling a rush of fondness to her heart at the endearing action. 

"Can I sleep here, with you?" Sherlock asked plainly, and John nodded.

Sherlock, relieved, slipped into the covers and shivered at the slight chill. John chuckled and moved over, tugging Sherlock into the crook of her body and holding her around the waist. Sherlock sucked in a breath at the action, feeling John's body pressed completely against hers for the first time, before she relaxed. 

John's body had grown soft since her time in the army, her breasts naturally large and pressing into Sherlock's back. 

 _She doesn't have a bra on,_ Sherlock's mind supplied unhelpfully, feeling the hardened buds pressing gently into her upper back and wanting to touch. 

"Go to sleep, Sherlock, I can hear you thinking," John whispered into her ear, her lips touching Sherlock's earlobe once in a soft kiss before settling down, clutching Sherlock tighter against her soft, yet strong, body. After a few moments, Sherlock relaxed, breathing in John's scent and the feeling of security at having John's arms around her.

* * *

Now, Sherlock was practically hyperventilating in the bathroom, wanting nothing more than to go to John but at the same time, feeling insecure. John had never seen her body so unclothed, so done-up. 

So vulnerable. 

Sherlock knew that she wanted to have sex with John, to catalog the many sensations to draw from every inch of John's body, but in order to do so, she knew John, an attentive lover, would demand to pleasure Sherlock in return. 

While she was thrilled by the idea, having touched herself many a night to the imagine of John whispering in her ear, filthy things she wished to do to her, Sherlock also knew that fantasies were nothing like reality. 

What if she wasn't good at sex? Would John leave her, go and marry a man and have his children?

Sherlock shuttered at the thought, and looked at her reflection once more. 

The black babydoll was sheer and simple, with lace overlay delicately cupping her small breasts and held up by lace straps. Her underwear, black panties that rose up slightly on her arse and have them a more rounded shape, were comfortable and nice. Overall, Sherlock enjoyed the lingerie; it made her feel sexual in a way she had never felt before. 

In Uni, Sherlock had tried to sleep with others for the sake of experimentation, but found herself unable to stand the precise of most people in a casual setting, realizing that an intimate setting with most people- or idiots- would be untenable. Now though, Sherlock had never felt more attracted to another person than John, her soft thighs and slight tummy were perfect for Sherlock’s head when she laid her head on John’s lap when laying on the couch. She was always kind to Sherlock, initiating causal touches that other people would never instigate with a _freak_.

Since the night of sharing John's bed, they migrated back and forth between the two bedrooms. Tonight, they were sharing Sherlock's bed.

Sherlock told John she was going to the loo for a shower, and she left the water running as she got dressed and did her make-up, only turning the water off while putting on the final touches. 

Now was the moment. Sherlock strode to the door and opened it before she could change her mind, entering into her bedroom and trying not to shake too noticeably. 

"Sherlock what the hell took you so-" John trailed off, her mouth gaping as she took in the sight of her soon to be lover.

Sherlock was wearing lingerie. Sherlock was wearing black, lacy lingerie with make-up and her hair was down, curling around her features and- _Jesus_ she was blushing! The great Sherlock Holmes, the untouchable, cold machine was looking positively edible wearing that little outfit that emphasized all the soft lines on her body. 

The trousers and shirts hid what was truly there well, John thought, and as Sherlock turned bashfully to the side, John could see the trousers did very little to expose the magnificence of her arse. 

"J-John, do you not like this?" Sherlock asked after another moment of silence, taking John's expression to be one of complete shock and eventual disgust. John shook her head, putting down the book she had been reading and dashed over to Sherlock, taking her into her arms. 

"No, love, I'm sorry I just-you look just so-"

"Feminine, I know," Sherlock finished, her flush now traveling down her graceful neck and John leaned up slightly to kiss the edge of that beautiful blush, making Sherlock gasp. 

"Yes, you look feminine and beautiful and utterly delicious," John exclaimed with a wide grin stretching her features and highlighting her button nose, "is this all for me?"

Sherlock nodded shyly, and John smirked, trailing her eyes up and down Sherlock's body in a way that made Sherlock feel equally loved and exposed in the same moment. 

"Well, it is quite the view, but I want to _touch_ ," John leered, kissing Sherlock once, twice on the lips, and causing Sherlock to over heat from the barely restrained passion. 

"Lie down on the bed, love, and tell me if anything makes you uncomfortable. We'll go slow." Sherlock nodded at John's request, and went to lie down, her chest already heavy from excitement and nervousness. 

"Shh, no need to be nervous, love," John calmed, recognizing the closed off look on Sherlock's face as a coping mechanism, "I won't hurt you. Well, unless you ask me to" she teased with a wink, and Sherlock rolled her eyes at John's horrid innuendo, loosening her muscles at relaxing more onto the bed. It was John, John would never hurt her. 

John smiled at her, and laid down beside her, trailing her hands up Sherlock's neck to her hair, lightly scratching and pulling at the gorgeous strands while humming to herself in satisfaction. Sherlock bit her lip to stop a moan from the sensation of the doctor's skilled fingers running through her curls and scratching her sensitive follicles, and John leaned forward to whisper in Sherlock's ear: "don't bite your lip love, let me hear you." 

Giving a shaky breathe and a nod, Sherlock began to trace her fingers up John's pajama pants and up the front of her t-shirt covered torso, frowning at her inability to see barely any of John's skin. 

John, chuckling at Sherlock's petulant pout, sat up to rip off the t-shirt and lay back down. 

"There, better?" She asked teasingly, her bare breasts touching the sheer paneling of Sherlock's lingerie. Sherlock panted harshly and looked down, seeing the beautiful bare breasts for her perusal and moved her hand down to touch.

John allowed her to grasp her left breast gently, moaning as Sherlock lightly twisted the nipple and hardened it further, causing goose bumps to travel along her breasts. Sherlock gave a smug smile at John's moan, and continued to fondle and caress the sensitive nipples and heavy breasts until John, achingly turned on, moved Sherlock's hands away. 

“You’re driving me crazy love,” John said, peppering kisses on Sherlock’s cheeks and neck, traveling steadily lower, her hands raising the soft black material from Sherlock’s alabaster thighs.

Sherlock whimpered from the sensitive touches to her neck and thighs, and felt John grinning against her collarbone, pleased at Sherlock's sensitivity to her touch.

“Shut up” Sherlock demanded, her command easily dismissed from the blush on her cheeks and the light moans making their way out of her plush mouth.

“ _Mmmm,_ you’re right,” John agreed with a twinkle in her eyes, and Sherlock gulped at the playfully predatory look on John’s face, wondering what secrets hey cerulean eyes hid.

John slide down Sherlock’s body, as Sherlock watched in confusion and delight, wondering what John was doing but grateful that she was still touching her.

“Too” kiss.

“Much” nip.

“Talking” hands hooking under Sherlock’s panties, gently pulling them from her body, and leaving her bare and vulnerable for the first time in her life. Sherlock looked away, self-conscious. John had never been with a woman, what if Sherlock’s genitalia was not enough?

“Shhh, sweetheart,” John soothed, crawling back up to place a few sweet pecks on Sherlock’s mouth, “we can stop right here, right now.”

“No!” Sherlock simpered, “no, just, I’ve never-“

“I know, Sherlock, but there is nothing wrong with inexperience. You’re doing wonderfully and even if you weren’t, it wouldn’t matter,” John said, smoothing back Sherlock’s curls and pressing her body to Sherlock’s, gently smoothing down Sherlock’s covered sides.

“B-but, why?” Sherlock’s voice broke, and she looked away from John in embarrassment, not used to being surrounded by so much emotion.

John smiled, and gently leaned down to kiss Sherlock’s forehead, letting her lips rest there from a moment, and Sherlock closed her eyes against the stinging sensation behind her eyes, “because I love you, and because you’re the most gorgeous person I’ve ever known.”

John said it with such conviction, such passion, that Sherlock felt a warmth growing inside of her that had nothing to do with arousal. John, Oh, _John_.

“Now, can I get back to making you feel wonderful?” John asked with a tentative smile, not wanting to push Sherlock but being anxious to continue touching the gorgeous detective. But she smiled and nodded back eagerly in consent, and John kissed her; deeply, passionately, with the meeting of tongues and heat dancing back and forth between the two.

John slide down the bed and, before Sherlock could even make a deduction, pressed her lips in a wet, closed mouth kiss against Sherlock’s lower lips. Sherlock’s hips thrust off the bed in shock, but John grabbed her, keeping her face buried in the short curls and laughing gently against Sherlock's cunt from her reaction, causing Sherlock to moan from the vibrations against her most sensitive area.

It was the sweetest kind of torture, Sherlock couldn’t twist away as John continued to gently peck and kiss her way down and back up her vaginal lips, John holding her down with sure, strong hands and Sherlock crying out; making the kinds of noises she was horribly embarrassed to be making but unable to stop to outpouring. 

It felt- _wet, hot, pulsing, amazing._

John lifted his head briefly, looking at the sight Sherlock made, black covered chest heaving, her nipples about the break free. A pink flush rose over her beautiful cheekbones, and her hair was in a wild spread of curls around her head like an angelic halo.

Sherlock’s stormy green and blue eyes opened and looked down to meet John’s, flushing further at the intimacy of the moment.

“John,” Sherlock whined, “stop looking at me like that.”

John smirked, an idea coming to her mind. Sherlock, with her overactive mind, needed words of encouragement along with tangible action.

“Why not Sherlock? Does it embarrass you that I'm watching your reactions while I eat you out? I can hardly help it, you're adorable.”

Sherlock gasped at John’s rude phrasing, which turned into a moan when John laid an open mouth kiss on said cunt, trailing her tongue up and down the slit, flickering around Sherlock’s sensitive clit and causing a loud shout to come from Sherlock, to John's delight.

“Or, does it turn you on? You’re being awfully loud,” John finished by closing her lips around Sherlock’s clit and sucking hard, hands stroking her hipbones, and Sherlock began to gush, moaning John’s name through her orgasm like a prayer with John happily licking and kissing Sherlock’s lower lips through the spasms, holding her hips down, pressing Sherlock to John's lips until the orgasm was fully over, placing on last peck on the shining dark curls. 

Once Sherlock’s breathing had slowed down, John kissed up her abdomen, pushing up Sherlock’s lingerie in the process.

In a rush, Sherlock flipped John, pulling down her pajama bottoms and began roughly palming her through her panties, rocking on top of her; John, already on edge from eating Sherlock out and her delicious sounds and reactions, causing John to come with a cry.

They both flopped over on their backs on the messy bedspread, grinning like fools.

“That was, the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done,” John panted after a moment with a laugh.

Sherlock looked over with a smile, “and you invaded Afghanistan.”

“I adore you, Sherlock,” John said, kissing Sherlock deeply, nipping at her lower lip and clutching her close.

“And I you, John,” Sherlock replied, “I wore lingerie for you, after all.”

John let out a surprised laugh, “yes, you did! And it is bloody gorgeous. I almost came just from looking at you and your gorgeous body. Your hidden curves, your breasts, and oh _god_ your cunt” John declared in a shocked voice, and Sherlock blushed violently, hiding her face in the crook of John’s neck.

“ _Aww,_ don’t be shy love, your little honey pot tasted _delicious,_ ” John admitted with a roughish grin and Sherlock nipped lightly at John’s nose in retaliation, a grin spreading across her face as she laid her head on John’s soft chest and cuddled close.

Yes, Sherlock was glad to be a woman.

  

 

 

 


End file.
